


how lucky that you dropped in

by icoulddothisallday



Series: baby, it's cold outside [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Because Bucky is frozen and can't consent, But he would if his brain wasn't frozen, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Post-Credits Scene, Crack Treated Seriously, Cryogenics, Cryoporn, Dubious Consent, Fixit Porn, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Misuse of Cryogenics, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Credit Fixit, What Fresh Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:51:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7282387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icoulddothisallday/pseuds/icoulddothisallday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve breaks Bucky out of Cryo with a blow job.<br/>(That's it, that's the plot)</p>
            </blockquote>





	how lucky that you dropped in

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, you may blame [sarahnotduck](http://sarah-not-duck.tumblr.com/) and [stuckypocketguide](http://stuckypocketguide.tumblr.com/) for this. In particular, [these](https://imdefinitelyyourcat.tumblr.com/post/146312964609/so-hows-steve-dealing-with-buckys-current-being) tumblr shenanigans led to this nonsense. I will not apologize.

Steve slides through the silent halls of Wakanda’s high-tech hospital, following the familiar path to Bucky’s room. Occasionally he passes a guard or a nurse, but they just nod and smile a little sadly at him. Steve hasn’t been able to stay away, not for a single day. But the nights are the hardest - when he misses Bucky the most. That’s always been true, even back in the day, right after Bucky had left for the war and Steve would toss and turn and sleep would never come.

Bucky’s room is dark but for the light in the cryo chamber. Steve takes a moment to admire Bucky’s features - the strong jaw and the soft, plump lips. He tries to ignore the tinge of blue that covers it all, the way frost clings to Bucky’s hair and eyelashes. Steve enters the code to open the tube. Cold air billows out. This much he has done before, when it was too much. Once he even stroked a hand over Bucky’s cold face. Bucky hadn’t so much as twitched.  

Tonight is different. It’s been two months since Bucky went into the ice and it’s Steve’s birthday. It’s been years since Steve touched Bucky the way his whole body longs for. He knows it’s a little twisted, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s given up everything. He’s lonely. His whole body aches with it. Clint’s keeping a low profile on the farm. Wanda’s been adopted by Wakandan mystics and is deep in the forests, learning ancient secrets. Scott’s disappeared into the criminal underworld of Nigeria, sending back reports of the world. Sam and T’Challa play their games of cat and bird and think Steve won’t notice the sly touches and secret looks.

All Steve has left is the cold hard shell of Bucky’s body. Tonight, with no one else here,  it’s just gonna have to be enough. He puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, runs them down his chest. Bucky is bigger now than he ever was before, muscles bulging and taught under Steve’s skin.

And cold. So cold.

Steve remembers lying in their tent in the alps, just the two of them, on a mission. Remembers how their bodies were cold and hard and how they moved and kissed and whispered to each other until they thawed, until heat suffused the canvas tent.

He closes his eyes, slips his hands under Bucky’s shirt, presses his fingertips to the skin there. He discovers new ridges and scars as he goes, a whole geography of places he never got to explore with Bucky. He swirls his thumb around Bucky’s navel, thinks of the way Bucky would hiss and arch at the simple motion. Steve’s knees buckle and he presses his face close. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the patch of skin just above Bucky’s pant line. Bucky’s skin is dry and cold, tastes like frost and ice and winter. He presses his tongue to the skin, thinks hysterically that this might end up like the time Steve dared Bucky to lick a street lamp in the middle of the winter, everyone gathered round to laugh when it stuck. 

But Bucky’s skin softens and warms just slightly under Steve’s ministrations. Steve swipes his tongue side to side, presses his fingers into the newly warmed flesh. He hooks his thumbs under Bucky’s scrubs and pushes them down. Bucky’s dick, nestled in dark curls between thick thighs, is half hard. Steve doesn’t know why that might be, but it heightens the fantasy, makes the moment a little more real. He noses down Bucky’s body, kissing and tonguing the skin until it’s warm and wet, almost like Bucky’s alive and sweating. Steve pulls back, trails a single finger down Bucky’s cock. He’s always thought it was pretty. Bucky always laughed at him, thought it was weird that Steve could spend hours drawing it.

It curves slightly to the right. It’s thicker than Steve’s, but shorter, and cut where Steve’s isn’t. It gets all flushed pink and perfect, and the edge of the head ridges up. Steve could trace that single, perfect ridge all day. He lowers his mouth to it, slips it in. It’s as cold as the rest of him, but the heat and soft suction of Steve’s mouth soon solve that. He searches out all of Bucky’s most sensitive spots and all of Steve’s favorite parts of Bucky’s cock. If everything else about Bucky has changed this, at least, hasn’t. The weight and taste and shape are all the same in Steve’s mouth, familiar and comforting. Steve closes his eyes and pretends.  Pretends he can feel it twitch and harden in his mouth, pretends he can hear Bucky’s muffled hiss of pleasure, pretends he feels the rapid pulse of a truly alive man under his tongue, instead of the too slow pulse of cryo.

And all of a sudden he’s not pretending anymore. There really is heat gathering under his tongue. Bucky’s cock is hardening, his pulse quickening. There’s a quick intake of breath that isn’t Steve’s and Steve’s eyes fly open.

Bucky is staring down at him, jaws agape and eye wide open. His pupils are blown. Bucky’s perfect pink tongue swipes over his perfect red lips and there is a wonderful, healthy flush spreading over his skin. Alarms start to blare but Steve can’t bring himself to care, fixes his eyes on Bucky’s and sucks. Hollows his cheeks and pulls. Slips his hand up to cup Bucky’s balls.

Bucky moans and sighs and then whimpers and Steve knows he’s getting close, knows those sounds, the tight twitching of Bucky’s hips, the fluttering of his perfect pink hole, the jerking of Bucky’s cock, better than he knows any other feeling in the world. He doesn’t take his eyes off Bucky’s face for a moment. He nips, ever so gently at that familiar ridge, uses his free hand to tease over Bucky’s inner thighs, and presses his tongue, up, hard on the underside of Bucky’s cock.

Bucky’s whole body tenses and untenses, his dick jerks up to hit the top of Steve’s mouth - once, twice, and then he’s coming and Steve is swallowing, desperate for this part of Bucky, this piece to carry with him. He suckles on Bucky’s dick until it softens and Bucky’s breath starts to hitch. He climbs to his feet, ignores the pounding ache of his own arousal and meets Bucky in a fierce, burning kiss.

“What a way to wake a fella, Stevie.”

“Couldn’t let my best guy down,” Steve murmurs back in between searing kisses.

Bucky pulls back for a moment, eyes a little serious, a little sad. Looks hard at Steve, like he’s searching for something. “You could never let me down, doll.”

Steve presses closer, feels the reassuring heat of Bucky’s body, feels the pounding heartbeat, feels Bucky’s chest rising and falling. He breathes a sigh of relief that he feels in his bones.

 

*

 

“That - that should _not_ be _possible_!” A doctor shrieks.

Sam smirks at the room at large. They’re standing in the antechamber. The alarms had woken them all, pulled Sam and T’Challa from the bed they’ve been sharing, had them all running.

Steve, it seemed, had woken his lover with the blow job of fairy tales.

“No,” T’Challa says, shaking his head. “No, it should not be.” He fixes his eyes on Sam, a familiar predatory darkness there. Sam licks his lips in anticipation.

“Nothing about Steve and Bucky is possible,” Sam says, turning his gaze back to the men inside. They’re trading kisses now, taking minute pauses to whisper things Sam can’t make out. He doesn’t want to be able too. Those things belong to Steve and to Bucky. “S’what love is.”

 

_fin._


End file.
